Jacqueline Druga - What Tomorrow Brings

“I’m writing a letter to Markie.”

Regis nodded.

“I’m such an asshole, Rege, I am. So much wasted time. “

“There’s still time left,” Regis said. “Maybe after we get you down there and you get better, then we can go north to Washington and look for Markie. Hell maybe even dad knows where he is. None of us talked to him.”

Mark shook his head.

“No? Dad doesn’t, why would he?”

“No, I hope he does. If he doesn’t, I don’t want to go to New Mexico.”

“What do you want to do?” Regis asked.

“I don’t think I have the time you think we have. I think… as soon as I can, I want to go try to find Markie. Give him this letter.” Mark laid his hand on the notebook. “Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

When Abe first met Harland, he found it hard to believe he was a doctor. Although he did first encounter him at the hospital. Harland was on the gruff side, didn’t use big impressive words and spoke short sentences. He was a simple man, but a highly talented one at that.

Even in the shelter, he struck Abe as the crazy kind of guy who lived on a farm growing weed and waiting for the end of the world. That was just Harland’s preferred environment. Once he was in his pocket at the hospital, he transformed into a medical professional.

When they arrived at the hospital that first day, Abe wasn’t worried about radiation or anything, he was just glad to be productive again. Kit was, as well. It seemed as if all her neuroticism about getting ill went out the window when she really saw the ill.

Her first words upon arrival, matched Abe’s thoughts. “Where did all these people come from?”

The town of Maltese wasn’t tiny, under six thousand residents, a lot of which were military personnel. The town had been spared, so where did the people come from?

“Ignorance,” Harland said. “A lot of people just thought after a day or two it was fine to come out. Now they’re feeling that. The injuries, the really sick people, they’re from outside this town. Yesterday, emergency services started going out at night, looking to see if people were walking, camping, making their way from Colorado Springs.”

“That was good thinking,” Abe said.

“Well, if you look at it. If you were spared and your city blew up, where would you go? The next town. How would you get there… walk.”

There were actually a lot of volunteers, but Harland and another doctor were it as far as physicians. There were some nurses and they were needed on the floor and in the emergency care places.

Kit was given the task of checking people in and taking names. That way those with any medical experience could help out elsewhere.

Abe left the hospital and went to the elementary school. They had to move those who had taken shelter there to other areas, and prepare the gymnasium for patients. They only had forty-two cots and Abe was told that wasn’t going to be enough.

How would they get more? He questioned that. They were making a lot of space, and were getting a pretty big set up ready. He learned after a few hours, that Schriever had gone ‘radio silent’ to the small towns, but opened up communication to inform Maltese they would be a bringing in supplies to make them an official medical station. The elementary school was the point of interest.

Abe did what was asked of him and kept working. It kept his mind focused on other things. In the shelter he tried not to show it, but he couldn’t stop thinking of the events. Was his brother alright? Would he ever see him again? What would become of their lives? Somehow, Abe knew rebuilding would never be complete in his life time.

Since he didn’t plan on dying anytime soon, he had a lot of years that he had no idea how he would fill.

Was just surviving enough? How was that possible? He just knew anything the first wave of survivors did was going to set in motion the survival of generations to come. Abe and so many had their work cut out for them. Like right there at the elementary school, Abe would do his part.

Kit was given what she thought was an easy job. At least when she was told what she would do, she thought it would be easy. A sit down job holding a pencil, and taking names.

She also was inside, so Harland said she didn’t have to run back to the shelter after an hour, but she would have to go back and spend twice as much time back there as she did working.

If she took names for six hours, she had to go back to the bunker for twelve.

Radiation accumulated and Harland didn’t want her sick.

She was one of five check in people. She was told hundreds were going to be registered, so she would be busy.

Still… easy job. Then she found out what all it entailed. Kit was on the front lines. She was the first person to make the determination of treatment, comfort, or death.

The job wasn’t easy, at least not emotionally.

She was give a clipboard, an instruction sheet with questions, stack of index cards and three Sharpie markers.

Red, Blue, Green.

Kit was to take down the name and chief complaint, then write those on the clipboard and the index cards. After that, she would ask the questions, depending on the answer would depend what marker she used and where she would send the patient.

“Name?” Kit asked.

“Janet Long.”

“What brings you here, Janet?”

“I’m not feeling well. I can’t keep anything down and I have this burn that keeps getting worse.” Janet extended her arm and pulled back the makeshift bandage. When she did, she lifted layers of skin. Her hand and forearm was black and peeling, it oozed blood

Kit wrote down two words, ‘burnt and sick.’ Then she pulled forth the questions. “How long have you been outside and not in a shelter?”

“We stayed in a basement the first two days then walked here.”

Kit calculated four days. According to the questionnaire, any individual exposed for any length of time the first week post bomb was to be asked if they had been vomiting, and, or, had diarrhea, If yes, any unexplained bruising, rash, bleeding or hair loss?

Yes to any of those… their card was to be marked with a red X, then give the card back to the person, and send them to the where the fire truck was parked outside.

It seemed every single person was getting a red X.

After a couple dozen red X’s with only a blue, or green here and there, Kit realized what the colors meant.

Fix, treat, comfort.

Green, blue, red.

The ones marked green would get treated and sent on their way, the ones marked blue would get medicated, the ones that were red, were pretty much being sent somewhere to be made comfortable. In another words, to die.

So many people, it couldn’t be right. Survivors like Janet Long were walking and talking, she wasn’t dying.

However, her body was.

The silent, invisible killer ravaged her body and soon it would take its final toll.

It all made Kit sick to her stomach to know how many people just didn’t have a chance. They would be spared as much suffering as they could, that was it.

There was no hope.

After a couple hours, Kit noticed that she went into this automated mode, moving people through the lines as quickly as possible and without any affliction to their voice. She did so until a teenage girl weakly and innocently said, “Thank you. I’m really scared.”

Kit stopped and her heart crumbled. She looked at the girl and realized she stopped looking at the faces.

With compassion, Kit reached up to the girl and grabbed her hand. “It will be alright.”

Kit took a moment. Her line would move slower, but as hard as it would be she decided she would stop being robotic. She wouldn’t look at these people as numbers. They were someone’s mother, father, brother, sister… child.